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OLD TIMES 




REMINISCENCES OF THE EARLY DAYS OF MICHIGAN. 



An Address by 



/ 



GOV. JOHN J. BAGLEY 



BEFORE THE 



Cass County Pioneer ;\ssociatioi 
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21,1876. 



DETROIT: 

Wm. Grauam's Steam Presses, 52 Batks Street. 

1876. 



OLD TIMES 



REMINISCENCES OF THE EARLY DAYS OF 
MICHIGAN. 



GOV. BACxLEY AT THE CASS COUNTY PIONEER PICNIC. 



The pioneers of Cass County held a general festival and picnic 
at Cassopolis on "Wednesday, the 21st, and among those who 
contributed to the reminiscences of the occasion was Gov. Bagley. 
He spoke as follows : 

My Fkiends — If you had asked me to come here and talk of 
politics — if you had invited me to "make a speech," I should not 
have come, but when you said, "come and talk of old times and 
early days," I could not say no. We find in the dictionary that 
the verb pioneer means to go before — prepare the way for. The 
noun pioneer meant originally a foot soldier or foot passenger — 
one who goes before to remove obstructions or prepare the way 
for others. How fully we who have been pioneers appreciate and 
understand these technical definitions of the word, and yet how 
incomplete and imperfect they are! Foot passengers, indeed, we 
were. It was easier to walk than to ride, but whether it was or 
not, we walked. The few household goods we owned, the spin- 



ning wheel and the family oven, filled the wagon, and mother 
and the children chinked into the spare places, and we and the 
dog walked. Preparers of the way, indeed, were we. The roads 
we built, the log bridges we threw across the streams we did not 
destroy, but left for those who were to come after us. The 
pioneer was unselfish. He cared not whether friend or foe was 
beliind him ; if he could make his way any more easy, he was 
glad of it. He felt that he was in partnership with the world — 
" a fellow feeling made him wondrous kind." He was the advance 
guard of an army — countless in numbers, irresistible in its power 
— an army that knew no such word as fail and listened to no order 
for retreat. 

The pioneer was the child of progress. He looked up, and 
not down ; forward, and not back. Behind him was the past, before 
him the future. He felt that the wise men came from the East, 
and took courage. The needle of his compass always pointed 
westward, and he followed it. 

Our pioneer dreamed dreams and saw visions. He dreamed 
of the old home on the hillside of New England or the quiet 
valleys of New York — of gray-haired father and mother, watching 
from the low door-way the departing children, or perchance 
sleeping in the village churchyard ; perhaps of smaller green 
mounds covering his John or Kate — or of the country church, 
where theologic dust knocked from the pulpit cushion in the good 
old orthodox way, had so often closed his eyes and ears on drowsy 
Sunday afternoons — or of .the spelling bee or singing school, where 
he first met the country lass 

"Who tying her bonnet under her chin, 
Had tied the young man's heart within," 



8 

and kept it tied forever after His dreams were of the yes- 
terdays — his visions were of to-morrow. He foresaw hard 
work and hard times, back-ache and heart-ache, blue days and 
weary nights, but he saw too in the dim future the town, the 
village, the city, the county, the State, an empire of itself — he saw 
thousands of homes and hundreds of thousands of owners, happy, 
prosperous people — he saw schools and churches, factories and 
fertile fields, institutions of science and learning — he saw capital 
and labor, brain and body, mind and muscle, all employed in the 
advancement of civilization, and the permanent improvement of 
mankind. And of all this he was to be a part and parcel. What 
visions were these ! Do you wonder that the pioneer was a pioneer, 
brave, cheerful and faithful? 

Though his visions were grand, the realization is grander still. 
He builded better than he knew, but with abundant faith in the 
future, adopted as the motto of the State "*S'/ queris peninsidam 
am(jenam circumspice^'''' (if thou seekest a beautiful peninsula behold it 
here), and thanks to his strong right arm and courageous heart, 
we do behold it — covered with quiet villages, thriving cities, fruitful 
fields and blooming orchards, dotted all over with happy homes, 
with schools and colleges, churches and public institutions that tell 
the story of a civilization, grand in its conception, and mighty in 
its progress. This is the handiwork of the pioneer, the ripened 
crop of the white covered wagon. 

We look back to the old times, as hard times, and so they 
were ; full hearts and empty purses, hard work and plenty of it, 
shivering ague and wasting fever were the common lot of our 
early settlers, yet they had their share of good times too, and were 
free from many a plague that annoys their children. 



Hard money and soft money were not debatable questions. 
You may remember tlie story of the man who, when he heard 
that tlie Bank of Constantine had failed said, ''His heart came into 
his mouth when he heard of it, and he rushed home and to the 
bureau drawer, when he found he hadn't any Constantine money 
or any other sort." He was a pioneer. 

Butter and eggs were pin-money; wheat paid the store-keeper; 
sled-length knotty wood that wouldn't make fence rails paid the 
minister, while an occasional pig or a grist of corn or wheat paid 
the doctor. Trade was the order of the day — the necessity of the 
time. And so we traded and dickered and swapped, exchanging 
products and helping one another ; and while in the outside world 
bankers talked of stocks and values — politicians quarreled over 
tariffs and free trade, and statesmen wrote of the laws of trade, 
of corporations, monopolies, finance, etc., etc., somehow or other, 
in our trading and dickering we managed to grow a little better 
off from year to year. 

Quarrelsome school meetings were unknown in those days. 
We never fought over the question of whether we should build a 
three story school-house with a basement or a four story one 
without, or whether we should put a cupola or a mortgage on it. 
We built our log school-house, set the teacher at work and boarded 
him round the neighborhood. 

The religious life of the pioneer was free from sectarianism. 
The itinerant minister doing his Master's work was always 
welcome to home and hearth-stone. The school-house was open 
to liim, regardless of his creed. He baptized and buried and 
married and asked no questions, and got but few fees. 

The different schools of medicine let the pioneer kindly alone. 



The boneset and wormwood, pennyroyal and catnip that hung on 
the chimney breast or the rafters in the ro^of were commonly 
enough; but if not, when we called in the hard- worked, poorly- 
paid, yet patient and jolly doctor, we did not question his 'Apathy" 
or his diploma. It may have been parchment or paper, from a 
college on earth, or in no man's-land, but we were sure his pills 
would be big enough, and that we could safely trust his jalap and 
cream of tarter, his calomel and quinine. 

Questions of domestic economy and home discipline that do 
worry the best of us now-a-days gave the pioneer but little trouble. 
No dispute could be gotten up over the pattern of the parlor 
carpet, for they hadn't any—or if they had, it was of rags. 
The fashion plates did not reach the woods in those days, and 
Jane's bonnet and Charlie's coat were worn regardless of style 
till they were worn out, and then they were made over for the 
younger children. Who called first, and who called last, and 
who owed calls, were not debatable questions with our mothers; 
they visited when they had time and wanted to— and when they 
didn't they stayed at home. 

Insurance agents did not worry the pioneer— his log house 
was fire proof. Patent-right peddlers haunted him not, for 
necessity made him his own inventor. Lightning-rod agents, 
smooth-tongued and oily, let him alone, as lightning had no terrors 
for him. The jaunty, aifable sewing-machine man had not been 
born to trouble the souls of our mothers. Mellifluous melodeons 
were not set up in the parlor on trial. The robins and the 
frogs, the orioles and the owls made music enough for him. 

The height and color, the architecture and structure of the 
first house gave us no uneasiness. It was built of logs any way. 



6 

If we were inclined to be extravagant we painted the door and 
window casings re^, making the paint of buttermilk and brick 
dust. The pathway to the gate was lined with pinks and four- 
o'clocks, sweet wiUiams and larkspur — (Latin names for American 
flowers had not been invented then.) Hollyhocks and sunflowers 
lifted their stately heads at either end of the house; morning- 
glorys climbed gracefully over the two front windows, and the 
hop vine, with its drooping bells, crept quietly over the door. 

The patent pump, or rattling wind-mill were as yet unknown, 
the well-sweep lifted its awkward hand as if beckoning one to 
quench his thirst from "the old oaken bucket that hung in the 
well." 

On questions of public policy the pioneer had decided opinions. 
His New England or New York education had fixed these firm 
and unchangeable, and the partisans of Jackson and Clay, Van 
Buren and Harrison argued their respective merits and demerits, 
as warmly as we do to-day. But office-seekers were scarce and 
office-holders scarcer, though they existed then, as now, a sort of 
necessary evil. 

One of the most prominent characteristics of the old time was 
the universal hospitality and helpfulness that abounded every- 
where. The latch string ran through the door. The belated 
traveler was sure of rest at the first house. Everybody wag 
ready to help in case of accident to wagon or cattle. "Lend a 
hand " was the motto of the pioneer. Teams were hitched together 
for breaking up; in harvest time the neighbors cradled and raked 
and bound for one another; when one went to mill, he went for 
the neighborhood; logging bees and husking bees, quilting bees 
and raisings were play-spells. We boast, and very justly too, of 



all that machinery has done for us, and especially in the field of 
agriculture; but has it ever occurred to you how much it has done 
to make machines of us ? We have no need to call upon our 
neighbor for help in the harvest field — the reaper takes his pla,ce. 
The old fashioned quilting, with its gossip and talk, its evening 
frolic and games, has departed. The sewing machine does the 
work of willing hands in the long ago. We are not as dependent 
or as generous in these days as in the old ones. We ask less, and 
of course give less. 

We are richer and the world is richer for its inventions, though 
I cannot help thinking that the swelling of our pocket-books is 
accompanied by a shrinking of our hearts. Whether this be so 
or not, the hospitality, the generosity, the helping hand and kindly 
heart that made "the world akin" when we were young, are 
worth remembering and imitating as we grow old. 

The pioneer was a worker. 

" From toil he wins his spirits light, 

From busy day the peaceful night ; 
Rich, from the very want of wealth, 

In heaven's best treasures — peace and health." 

I don't know that he loved work any better than we do, but 
he had to do it, and every body around him, wife and children, 
worked to. "God and the angels were the only lookers-on" in 
the old time. 

The boys held the plough and the girls held the baby. The 
wife rocked the cradle and ran the spinning wheel at the same 
time, and to the same tune. To get the trees out and the crops 
in was the ambition of the family, and they all helped. 

When I hear a farmer, who has cleared up his farm, built his 



8 

buildings, planted his orchards, and is out of debt, all from the 
sweat of his own brow, say "I have done my share, I mean to 
sit on the fence and see somebody else work hereafter," I honor 
him for the good work of his younger days and for the good sense 
of his latter ones, and devoutly say, amen. Now I confess I don't 
like hard work, and presume you don't; yet in these times of 
depression and financial distress, when statesmen or men who 
think they are statesmen, financiers, and political economists are 
groping in the dark for some measures of relief, proposing all 
sorts of impossible schemes, legislating this way and that — calling 
a dollar two dollars if you owe a debt, and fifty cents if somebody 
owes you — imagining that an act of Congress may prove a 
magician's wand by which hard times may be waved away and 
good times beckoned in, I sometimes think that the only path 
that will lead us back to prosperity is the highway of labor, pro- 
ductive industry, old fashioned hard work, that will enable us to 
produce more than we consume, earn more than we spend and 
export more than we import. 

Too many of us are trying to get a living without work, by 
trading in something — operating, as it is called in fashionable com- 
mercial circles — or in some way that is comfortable and easy and, 
as we think, respectable. 

I do not wonder at this; it is natural and 1 see no blame in it, 
but it is not healthful. None of us want our boys to have quite 
as hard a time as we had when we were boys, (I know I don't 
for one), the boy's heart that still beats under our vest says this, 
but as plain, practical men I am not sure but we do our boys an 
injury in this feeling. 

At all events we should hold up to them the idea that the law of 



labor is the law of humanity, that work is honorable, dignified 
and profitable, and the sort of stuff that men are made of. 

A world without heroes would indeed be a poor one. We in 
America have had our full share, and in this year of all others we 
love to talk of them. Heroes of every generation are the common 
legacy of our citizenship, and how fondly, yet boastingly, we 
recall the names on the long roll of honor ; with what honest pride 
we recount the heroic acts that adorn every page of our history; 
with what tender remembrance have we embalmed in our mem- 
ories the actors. 

"Their swords are rust, 
Their bones are dust, 

Their souls are with the saints we trust." 
When we remember ^lichigan as it was forty years ago. and 
see it as it is to-day, we realize that "Peace hath her victories no 
less renowned than war," and that we too have our heroes, whose 
laurels have been gained in the paths of peace — conquerors not 
of their fellow men but of nature itself. 

The man who steps on to a forty or eighty acre lot of wild 
land with only his ax for a helper, and says "Here is to be my 
liome — here me and mine shall, by-and-by, sit under the shade of 
our own vine and tree — here shall be rest and peace and quiet 
content" — is indeed a hero. 

His banner is always a flag of truce, his tiophies the fallen tree 
and burning log-heap, his reward, the prosperity and happiness, 
that blesses us to-day. In his work the wife and mother have 
done their share, and if we christen him a hero, we must not for- 
ge I that they are heroines, enduring privation without complaint, 
rearing the family in the fear of God and to habits of industry, 
helping neighbor and stranger alike, foremost in school and church 



10 

work, with a kindly greeting for tired husband or boy, with good 
words for the faint-hearted beginner, or weary new-comer; have 
they not earned our adoration, are they not heroines indeed? 

The one grand impelhng power that directed the pioneer was 
the idea of lioine. He left the home of his boyhood, not to float 
idly on the world's surface, not to tarry here a while and there a 
while, but with the fixed, firm purpose of founding a home of his 
own. He knew that states and communities, cities and villages 
would follow his footsteps, but the goal he strove for was home. 
For him, ''East or AYest, home's best." The love of home we 
bear to-day is our inheritance from the fathers, ''more to be 
desired than gold, yea, than much fine gold, sweeter also than 
honey and the honey comb." Let us cherish it, increase it with 
watchful care, and as new swarms go out from the parent hive, 
let them settle in hives of their own, remembering that 

"There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 

A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, 

AVhere man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 

His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 

"While in his looks l)enignly blend 

The sire, the son, husband, brother, friend ; 

Here woman leigns, the mother, daughter, wife. 

Strew with fresh flowers, the narrow way of life! 

In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 

An angel-guard of love and graces lie ; 

Around her knees domestic duties meet. 

And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 

"Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? 

Art thou a man? — a patriot — look around : 

0, thou shalt find, however thy footsteps roam. 

That land tliii country, and that spot tltij home." 



11 

The spirit of unrest, of conquest, and of progress that has 
animated the Anglo-Saxon for so many centuries is the spirit of 
pioneership. The men and women of the May-flower, when they 
•cast anchor in Plymouth Bay, saw in the land that gladdened 
their eyes a home free from persecution, a land where they could 
worship God with freedom and in accordance with the dictates 
of their own conscience, and that was all. They knew not that 
the hand that guided them in the pursuit of religious freedom had 
chosen them as the founders of a nation. They felt not the power 
■of the spirit of civilization impelling them. 

They did not reahze that in the wake of their craft, there fol- 
lowed the steamship, the locomotive and the telegraph. In the 
little cabin of that vessel the arts and sciences, invention and 
discovery, commerce and trade were unseen passengers. 

At its masthead floated the simple banner of the cross, and 
though the red, white and blue of the December sky hung over 
them, they did not see in it the flag of a nation of forty millions 
-of people. 

All this they knew not, for in the small compass of their ken 
they only saw the immediate present. They forgot that the blood 
•of the centuries that flowed in their veins was that of the pioneer. 

Our own pioneers — and we too — have not recognized this in 
our rovings and migrations. They, and we set out on our 
pilgrimage to find a home for ourselves, and have established 
•empires and builded States. The divine purposes of the Great 
Ruler have been entrusted to the pioneer. He has been the 
instrument in subduing the waste places, in civilizing and human- 
izing the world. The pathway he carved out has become the 
highway upon which the world is traveling, bearing in its train 



12 

the civilization of the nineteenth century — laden with the love of 
liberty and freedom — freighted with the noblest, highest hopes 
of humanity. The great procession is still in motion; it cannot 
pause or stop ; still there are worlds to conquer — still there is work 
for the pioneer. 

The Pilgrim Fathers founded the nation, their sons saved it 
and it is ours to preserve and perpetuate. Let us then, in this 
birthyear, highly resolve to be true to the blood of the pilgrim 
and the pioneer that courses through our veins. They laid the 
foundation strong and sure; it is for us to complete the struct- 
ure. Let us see to it then that our work be well done, so that 
with us, education and morality, religion and liberty, free thought 
and free speech shall abide forever. 

"For the structure that we raise, 

Time is with materials filled ; 
Our to-days and yesterdays 

Are the blocks with which we build. 

Truly shape and fashion these, 

Leave no yawning gaps between ; 
Think not, because no man sees 

Such things will remain unseen. 

Thus alone can we attain 

To those turrets, where the eye 
Sees the world as one vast plain, 

And one boundless reach of sky.'* 




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